


Traffic Duty

by CoralTypewriter



Series: Clone Stories [4]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Clones, Coruscant (Star Wars), Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, POV Third Person Limited, Present Tense, Propaganda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoralTypewriter/pseuds/CoralTypewriter
Summary: Fox likes traffic duty. It beats sitting in a windowless office for hours, pouring over documents and typing reports until his eyes ache and fingers cramp. And it’s certainly better than being trapped on guard duty at the senate building, listening to politicians all day.
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Clone Stories [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120856
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	Traffic Duty

**Author's Note:**

> 01/19/21: Minor edits.

Fox likes traffic duty. It beats sitting in a windowless office for hours, pouring over documents and typing reports until his eyes ache and fingers cramp. And it’s certainly better than being trapped on guard duty at the senate building. (Fox can count on one hand the number of senators he actually likes: Amidala, Chuchi, Organa, and Mothma). Not to mention, Chancellor Palpatine gives him the heebie jeebies—there’s something seriously wrong with that guy. Without probable cause to prompt an investigation, however, Fox finds himself unable to say let alone _do_ anything about it. Not unless he wants to find himself in line for reconditioning on Kamino. 

It’s half an hour past 1800 and evening rush-hour is well underway. The air buzzes with speeder engineers, blaring horns, and radios tuning into the latest hits. Today’s weather reminds him of a good day on Kamino, when the raging storms turn to a sleepy drizzle. And Fox wonders if he’s the only trooper in the GAR that likes the rain. Its refreshing smell, the sound of it hitting his armor. 

A certain warmth fills his chest whenever he spots children splashing in puddles, couples deciding to have their ‘rain scene’ moment, or drunken shinies who’ve seen enough rain on Kamino and are ready to fist fight the damn sky. People just being people. 

Speaking a drunken clones. 

One passes by, carried by a brother, and tosses an obscene comment his way. 

Behind the visor of his helmet, Fox rolls his eyes. The Coruscant Guard aren't exactly popular among their own—though Fox often argues that being a local law enforcer or security guard is just as important—and Fox knows he’s the most disliked one, if not the most disliked trooper in the GAR. Something about having a stick wedged so far up his own ass that he could choke on it. 

“That’s not me,” he wants to say. “I’m not always myself.” 

Whatever Chancellor Palpatine wants him to do, he does as if on autopilot. All he has to say are those _damn_ words. (“Commander Fox, execute Order—”). Within microseconds, everything that makes Fox himself melts away, leaving him with only two things: an objective and an unbridled determination to complete that objective. It's becoming more frequent now too and it’s...it’s _changing_ him. And not for the better. To be honest, Fox doesn’t remember a time when he was truly himself—maybe when he was a cadet. Maybe not. 

He takes a sharp inhale of breath, fingers drumming against the handles of his speeder in agitation. Careful eyes scan the traffic lanes, waiting for something to happen. Because something _always_ happens in this congestion: collisions, speeding, vehicular manslaughter. 

A speeder sling-shots around the corner, running a red light, and zooming down the lane. All of which nearly caused, at least, three other speeders to crash into them. Fox takes off after them, lights flashing. The offender doesn’t give much chase. Slamming on their brakes, the speeder fish tails and comes to a screeching halt right outside 79's. 

Neon lights shimmer on the wet pavement under his boots as Fox approaches the speeder, sparing a glance at the chassisplast on its bumper that reads: _Stop throwing away lives. Stop cloning._ Through the Coruscant Traffic Violation Bureau, COMPOR has been cracking down on civilian produced propaganda, especially those with anti-Republic sentiments. Fox, of course, doesn’t even consider reporting her—she’s not wrong. Not to mention, it's not the most unpatriotic opinion he's seen. 

“License and registration _,”_ he says. 

The driver, a yellow twi’lek wearing a University of Coruscant varsity jacket, deflates but fishes both out from her pocket. 

It’s muscle memory to Fox by now: run plate numbers, check ID for authenticity, write ticket. A tense silence hangs between them. Fox knows that she’s waiting for him to comment on the chassisplast, the anxiety practically radiating from her like a star before it goes supernova. Or maybe it's from the group of clones standing outside for a smoke. Their glares pierce through his armor like blaster bolts. 

“Late to class?” He asks, waiting for the scan to complete. 

“Work actually,” she says and points sheepishly towards the entrance. “I’m a, uh, server here.” 

_Ah_ , he muses. That might explain the glares _._

“Did I just lose my chance at free drinks?” 

She manages a laugh and shakes her head. “This is all on me—you’re just doing your job.” 

If Fox had a credit for every time he heard that, he’d be a credit richer than the next clone. It takes him a moment to realize he’s staring. Frozen. Civvies—even those who sympathize with clones—often find their helmets intimidating. Faceless, emotionless. The words ‘meat droid’ echo in the back of his mind. Yet, she looks up at him with such tender concern, Fox might just shatter into a million pieces on the spot. 

“You okay?” 

Fox swallows thickly, pulse jumping against his skin. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He exits the program on his datapad and gives her a curt nod. “Just take it slow.” 

As he climbs on his speeder and merges back into traffic, Fox lets out a shaky sigh. No, he’s not okay—and he knows it’s only going to get worse from here. At least he’ll still have traffic duty to keep himself sane. Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> The chassisplast (sticker) is from the Star Wars Propaganda: A History of Persuasive Art in the Galaxy.


End file.
